


Across the Hall

by intolauren



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst and Feels, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 07:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11618517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intolauren/pseuds/intolauren
Summary: Felicity Smoak is used to being alone, used to loneliness. Until one day she doesn't want to be.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up feeling sad and miserable and instead of wallowing in it, I decided to channel it into some writing. I'm posting this as a new work rather than sticking it in with my drabbles even though I currently have no plans to write anymore to it, just in case my muse ever strikes and wants me to continue it. I always forget how much I love a good old Neighbours AU until I start reading/writing them. And writing this has left me with only 3.2k words left to hit my Camp NaNoWriMo goal, so yay! 
> 
> Any words of encouragement are always greatly appreciated! So please let me know what you think of this once you're done :)

Friday nights are the worst. 

Felicity is used to being by herself, she's used to the dull ache of loneliness and has grown to just accept it as part of herself at this point. She’s used to doing everything alone and spending entire days in silence, entire weeks without really communicating with anyone besides the cashier at the grocery store or the doorman delivering her takeout or the casual exchanges of small talk with her neighbour who lives across the hall whenever they happen to cross paths every now and then. Sometimes she even enjoys the long, quiet days; sometimes they feel more like solitude than loneliness. 

But Friday nights are hard because she's aware more than usual of how unusual it is for a human being to spend so much time alone.

If she's really quiet, which she usually is, she can hear people in the apartments nearby all getting ready to go out on Friday evenings. She hears them playing music, singing loudly and out of key as the alcohol they're consuming starts to take over their body. She hears them greet friends and offer them inside. She hears them laughing and singing some more, together this time. And then she hears the door close as they head out for the night, to bars and movies and dinner dates. 

The building is never quite as quiet as it is on Friday evenings, the loneliness never quite as loud. 

Felicity knows she's partly to blame for the way her life is now. She knows she could try harder to make friends, introduce herself properly to her neighbours, even go out downtown one evening and start talking to people in bars. She knows she could look for a job, one in an office building or a store, anything other than one that she does from home, day in day out just sitting on her computer at her dining room table. She knows she could join the gym, go to a class on poetry or pottery, start going running or hiking with local groups. But she doesn't. Whenever she convinces herself to try, she talks herself out of it in the end. Convinces herself she's perfectly happy and content being by herself. 

And she is. 

Until the days where she isn't. 

Until the days where she feels suffocated by silence and wants to stand out in the street and scream and beg for someone to notice her. Until the days where she sits alone and cries into the arm of the couch for what feels like hours. Until the days where she can't face getting out of bed in a morning because the thought of another breakfast alone is just too much to bear. 

She hears her mother’s voice in her head on those days, strong and warm and whole, as though she’s standing right in front of her with her hands on her hips and a stern but soft look on her face. “You need to get out there, Felicity. You need to let people in.” 

She misses her mom so much. She can't believe it's been two years now since she passed away. 

She knows her mom is right, she knows that she should open the door and get out there, just out of her apartment, but she's become so used to the safety of her four walls. Nothing can hurt her in here. Nothing can leave her. 

But for once in her life it's Friday again and she's sick of being alone. She's sick of drinking wine by herself and falling asleep halfway through a movie before it's barely 9pm because she's so exhausted. 

So before she can even talk herself out of it, she's leaving her apartment and crossing the hall, hesitating only minutely before knocking on the door of her neighbour, the only one who has ever made an effort to speak to her in passing. She doesn't blame her other neighbours for ignoring her. She knows she walks around with her headphones on and her hood up and refuses to make eye contact or smile at anyone. She knows she's not an approachable person in the slightest. 

But that's never stopped him. He's smiled and said hi almost every single time he's seen her for as long as she can remember, ever since she moved in two years ago. She doesn't even speak back sometimes, but that doesn't seem to deter him. Sometimes, those basic and short interactions with him have felt life saving. A simple hello can mean so much when you're as lonely as she is. 

She doesn't know much about him; their conversations, if you can call them that, have never strayed beyond small talk. The most she knows about him is that he loves the rain. She knows that because whenever it's raining and she bumps into him, he tells her what a wonderful day it is. She hates the rain, but hearing him say that always makes her smile anyway. 

She's deep in thought when he answers the door. He looks confused for a fraction of a second before a smile crosses his face. “Hey, you.” 

Felicity smiles back. “Hi. I know this is weird because we don't really know each other but-” 

“I know you. You're the mysterious girl from across the hall who hates the rain and is always listening to music,” he grins, leaning on the door frame looking completely at ease. 

She's never really paid attention before to how tall he is, but he towers over her even leaning over like that. Normally she’d find that intimidating. But she doesn't feel intimidated at all, not whilst he’s smiling at her the way he is. Her face feels hot under his gaze and she knows she’s blushing. She hopes he doesn't notice. 

“Right, I mean besides that, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” There's that grin again, it reaches all the way to his eyes. 

“Anyway, as I was saying, I know we don't really know each other and I've never knocked on your door before, but I was wondering if you'd like to come over and watch a movie with me? I have wine and snacks and an impressive collection of horrors. Or sci-fis. Or any movie, really. Except romantic movies. I hate those.” 

“I can tell. You really don't look like the kind of girl who would cry herself to sleep over The Notebook.” 

“Nicholas Sparks is the worst. His novels are so unrealistic. And someone always dies! I can't believe people actually want to make movies about depressing stuff like that. I don't understand why anyone would invest so much time into something that's going to make them feel miserable. I mean, what's the point? There's plenty of stuff in reality that makes people cry without creating fiction that does the same thing,” she laughs, rolling her eyes 

Oliver doesn't respond, he just looks at her intensely, still smiling, like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. 

She shifts awkwardly, resting her weight on one leg and then the other. 

“Who would have ever thought you had so much to say?” He asks, although she's not sure he's asking her directly or whether the question is rhetorical, a thought he’s said aloud. 

She shrugs anyway, biting her lip. “Sorry.” 

He almost looks offended as she speaks. “Don't apologise. You have a nice voice.” 

She blushes again and this time she knows he notices because his eyes warm and his smile grows as she feels the heat in her cheeks. 

He holds out his hand. “I'm Oliver, by the way. I figured if we’re going to hang out, you should probably know my name.” 

She takes his hand and shakes it, delighting in how warm and firm his touch is, feeling goosebumps run down her spine. It's been so long since anyone touched her. So long she can hardly bear to think about it. She inhales deeply, shakily, trying to stop her mind from going there. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and she silently screams at herself inside her head for being so readable. 

“Yup. Fine. Just fine.” He's still holding her hand. “I'm Felicity,” she forces herself to say, before she lets go and returns her hand back to her side. 

Oliver watches her every movement and for the first time that evening, she starts to question whether this was a good idea after all. Maybe making friends with an attractive stranger wasn't the best way to start after years of extremely minimal social interaction and human contact. Maybe she should just go home and call an old friend from high school or something. 

“Felicity,” he says thoughtfully. “It suits you.” 

She snorts. “Really? You know that it means happiness, right? I don't think I could be any _less_ suited to my name.” 

But Oliver doesn't laugh, he just smiles softly at her. “I think I could prove you wrong.” 

It sounds like a promise. 

She doesn't know what to say so she's says nothing. She figures he's used to her silence by now anyway. 

He watches her for a long time and surprisingly, Felicity grows less and less uncomfortable the longer he does. She still can't bring herself to meet his eyes, so she continues staring at his hands instead. She wants to hold his hand again. She hates how much she wants to hold his hand again. 

“Are you seeing anyone, Oliver?” She asks, surprising herself and him, and she blushes again. “Not that I'm asking for any particular reason, obviously. I'm just making conversation.” 

She curls her fingers into tight fists, until she can feel her nails digging into her palms and for the second time wishes she hadn't come over after all. But Oliver doesn't seem too phased by her question. His eyes only stay surprised for a short while before the warmth returns to them _and_ his smile. 

“Honestly, Felicity, I'm not sure.” 

She looks up at him then, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, she sees a hint of sadness in them. The overpowering urge to hold his hand returns but she forces it down, curling her fingers even tighter into her palms, almost until it hurts. 

“It sounds like there's a story behind that,” she says and he chuckles, softly. 

“Maybe after that wine you promised, I'll tell you about it,” he replies, his smile returning as he leans into his apartment and grabs his phone and keys, slipping them into his pocket. “Should I bring anything?” 

“Hmm, well I have chips and I'm sure I have popcorn in the cupboard somewhere. And the wine, like I said. But it would be awesome if you happened to have ice-cream or something.” 

“I have ice-cream.” 

“What flavour?” 

“Guess.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I said guess. Try and guess what kind of ice-cream is my favourite. Which kind I always have in my freezer.” 

Felicity stands back a little and regards him. For some reason, she desperately wants to get this right. She thinks carefully over each flavour inside her head, trying to picture exactly which one he’d indulge on after a long day at work. 

“My instinct is to say chocolate, but that's boring. That's the obvious choice. And I don't think you're that obvious,” she begins, watching his face for any clue that she’s getting the answer wrong. When she doesn't spot any, she continues. “And I don't think you're a vanilla kind of guy either.” 

Oliver chuckles, watching her as she watches him. “You really thought long and hard about this, didn't you?” 

“I'm usually really good at reading people, I just haven't had a lot of practice lately. So I wanted to make sure I got this right,” she smiles, amusement pulling at her lips as she watches his reaction, watches him raise his eyebrows questioningly at her, clearly in disbelief that she’s going to guess correctly. 

She thinks for a few more long seconds before she decides. 

“Raspberry Ripple,” she says, confidently. “Am I right?” 

He doesn't answer her right away, just continues looking at her with an unreadable expression. 

“What makes you say that?” He asks, opening his door fully and stepping inside towards his freezer. 

“I'm not sure, exactly. I just know that people wouldn't expect it. So that's why you choose it. No one would ever assume that you like the slightly bitter but deliciously sweet taste of raspberry in your ice-cream. Not a lot of people do. Most people prefer more conventional flavours. And that's why raspberry is your favourite. Because it's unexpected,” she says, thoughtfully, partly making it up on the spot and partly just watching his face and letting it tell her what to say. “And also because the stores never run out of it. Because it's no one’s favourite,” she adds with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

Oliver is standing so still and looking at her so intensely that her joke goes unappreciated. She clears her throat awkwardly. 

A smile creeps back onto Oliver’s face as he reaches into the freezer and pulls out a tub of ice-cream. Before he's even turned around to face her again, she knows she was right. 

Raspberry Ripple. 

“See? I told you I was good at reading people,” she says, feeling pleased and proud of herself. 

She's glad she hasn't lost the ability to read others. In fact, if anything, it's probably stronger now than it ever was. Being a natural born introvert has always made it easy for Felicity to watch people and learn things about them without them ever having to say a word. She used to spend her entire lunch breaks at school just sitting in the cafeteria guessing things about the lives of her classmates around her. And given that she hasn't really spoken to anyone since her mother died, and before that even, most of her life is spent watching people, learning them, comparing their behaviours and unconscious habits. 

“Felicity, you are remarkable,” Oliver says, as he approaches her again, his eyes meeting hers with that same intense look he’d had before, except now it’s a little softer around the edges. 

She smiles somewhat awkwardly under his gaze. “Thank you for remarking on it.” 

Oliver grins at that and steps out of his apartment, letting the door close softly behind him, the ice cream tucked under one arm. “So, where’s this wine you keep talking about?” 

She smiles back. “Follow me.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo I ended up writing more to this... surprise? I think (THINK) this is the last chapter. For real this time. (Okay maybe an epilogue? I'm the worst...) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think when you're done :)

A bottle and half of red wine and 2 episodes of Firefly later, Felicity glances from the TV over at Oliver. He's staring intently at the screen, a slightly confused expression on his face. He’d let her pick what they were going to watch, telling her to surprise him, to educate him, and when she'd suggested Firefly, he’d happily agreed, even though he’d admitted that it wasn't usually the kind of thing he’d watch and he’d probably ask a lot of questions. Felicity hadn't minded. She was pretty sure she could answer any question Oliver could possibly ask about the show. She’d tried not to talk too much whenever he asked a question, but several times she hadn't been able to help herself and it had made Oliver laugh, quietly at first but then louder until his laughter cut into her train of thought and shut her up. He’d never complained about it though, even though she was sure that he’d missed half of the plot points whilst she was sitting beside him babbling away. And he’d only frowned and rolled his eyes disapprovingly whenever she’d apologised for talking too much. 

She watches him now as his eyes flicker across the screen, taking everything in, and she can see that he really is trying to get into it. She smiles. 

“You really don't have to pretend to enjoy this if you don't want to. We’ve watched two episodes now and if you don't like it by now, then we can probably just agree that it's not your thing and find something else to watch,” she chuckles. 

Oliver glances at her, an amused grin on his face. “I really am trying, Felicity. But I just don't think space stuff is for me. Except Wall-E. That movie is cute,” he laughs. 

Felicity laughs too. “I agree. Wall-E is a great movie.” 

“My best friend’s daughter loves it. Whenever I look after her, she always wants to watch it.” 

“That's so cute. What's her name?” 

“Sara. She's 4. And I'm cheaper than your average babysitter so I must have seen that movie at least a hundred times. Like every other week pretty much. My friends really do exploit me, you know?” He grins, and from the expression on his face Felicity knows that he doesn't mind in the slightest. 

“I bet she's super cute. I bet she loves you.” 

“She is. And she only adores me because I let her have more candy than her parents do and I don't make her go to bed at 7 on the dot.”

“It sounds like she has you wrapped around her pinkie.” 

Oliver laughs. “You have no idea.” 

“What else do you like to do? When you're not looking after Sara?” Felicity asks, desperate to find out more about the neighbour who has lived right across the hall from her for the last two years. 

“Well, I work. A lot. At Queen Consolidated. It's my father’s business, so it's just always made sense that I work for him so I can take over one day.” 

He says it like it's no big deal but Felicity and everyone else in the city knows QC and how much the company is worth. She wonders why he lives in this building when she's sure he could afford a penthouse somewhere, or even more than that. But she doesn't ask because her mother raised her to have manners. And Donna Smoak would probably turn in her grave if Felicity started asking questions about Oliver’s wealth, especially when they've only just officially met each other. Donna would prefer that she at least wait until the second date. Not that they were going to date, of course. Because she is _so_ not thinking about them going on a date. _At all_. 

“I know what you're thinking,” Oliver says, smiling at her. 

_God, I hope not,_ Felicity thinks. “Really?” 

“You're wondering why I live here when my father owns a billion dollar company, right?” 

Felicity smiles sheepishly. “I guess the thought had crossed my mind.” 

Oliver chuckles. “The apartment isn't technically mine. It's my girlfriend’s. Except she hasn't lived there for a while now. And I know I should sell it but I’ve actually grown to enjoy it here.” 

She watches Oliver’s face as he speaks. He’s smiling but there's a sadness in his eyes. She's curious, and she can tell that Oliver wants to talk. She’s known that ever since they stood in the hallway. 

“She doesn't live there anymore?” 

Oliver shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. “Remember that story I said I'd tell you earlier if I had some of that wine you promised?” He laughs, somewhat humourlessly. 

Felicity smiles and gestures to the empty bottle on the coffee table. “The wine has definitely been given as promised.” 

Oliver nods and looks thoughtful for a while and Felicity lets him think, sipping her own wine. She's on her third glass of the night and she knows Oliver isn't far behind her. 

“I met Laurel, my girlfriend, in high school. I played football and she was a cheerleader, the classic love story, you know?” Oliver laughs softly and Felicity smiles. 

She's read enough books to know that those classic high school love stories rarely ever end well. 

“We fell in love pretty quickly. Spent every second of our free time together, changed our plans so we could go to the same colleges, moved in together as soon as we graduated. I guess I didn't really _want_ all of that, but I _did_ want to make her happy. So I changed my major and studied business instead of taking my sports scholarship just so we could stay close together. Laurel wanted to be a lawyer; she was so smart and so confident and I never doubted for a second that she’d be an amazing lawyer one day. I wasn't wrong. She even has her own firm now. 

I guess that's where our problems started. I started working for my dad and Laurel started working at the DA’s office and we saw less and less of each other. We weren't used to spending that much time apart. Ever since we’d met we’d spent almost everyday with each other and all of a sudden, we were seeing each other for a couple of hours a day and those hours were spent asleep or wishing we were. And I guess we both struggled with it but neither of us said anything. We just dealt with it in our own ways. For Laurel that was taking on even more hours at work, sometimes even sleeping at her office. For me, it was drinking a glass of whiskey every night and falling asleep before I could miss her. Neither of which was very helpful. Obviously.” 

Oliver stops then, just to drain his glass. He pours himself another and offers the bottle to her. Felicity shakes her head. 

“Eventually, we started running out of things to say to each other. She had her life and I had mine and there wasn't really anything we had in common anymore. We began to realise, I think, that we’d fallen for each other so fast, too fast, and that maybe we weren't as right for each other as we originally thought. It wasn't really much of a surprise when I found out she’d started seeing someone else. And believe it or not, it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. We argued a lot about it, but neither of us really fought that hard. She kept seeing him, seeing even less of me, and slowly I just stopped fighting her about it. Because I wanted her to be happy. Even if that meant she wasn't happy with me. 

She moved out a couple of weeks later. I came home from work and all her stuff was just gone. She’d left a note but all it said was that I could keep the apartment or sell it, she didn't care. And that was it. 6 years together and that was all she had to say in the end. That was the first time I cried. Because as soon as I opened the door that night, I knew it was over. I mean, I'd known it was over for a long time. But I never actually thought she’d leave, especially without talking to me about it. But she loved someone else and I couldn't do anything about that. I'd had my chance to win her back and I hadn't bothered and-” 

“Neither had she, Oliver. It wasn't all on you,” Felicity interrupts, unable to sit there and say nothing any longer. 

Oliver shrugs. “Thanks. I guess it doesn't matter anyway. The last I heard, she's engaged now. It sounds like she was engaged before she even left me. We still have a lot of mutual friends so I hear about her from time to time. It's been six months since she left. But I've never had closure, you know? I still forget sometimes that she's gone. I still feel like we’re together, sometimes? That she’s just been working a lot of late nights or something. Hence why I told you that I wasn't sure if I was seeing anyone when you asked. I know that doesn't make sense because I haven't seen her in six months…” Oliver stops then and shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk anymore. 

“I’m sorry, Oliver. I really am,” Felicity says, feeling Oliver’s pain inside her chest as though it’s her own. 

“Thank you. But we clearly weren't meant to be. I've come to realise that. And that's okay. It's life,” Oliver replies, smiling softly, a mixture of sadness and acceptance at the same time. 

“You sound like my mom. She used to say stuff like that all the time?” Felicity laughs quietly. 

Oliver smiles back and raises his eyebrows in question at her use of “used to”. 

“She died two years ago,” Felicity explains, quickly and simply, effectively ending that conversation before it can even begin. Thankfully, Oliver doesn't push it any further. 

He’s quiet for a few minutes before he leans over and grabs the TV remote, muting the sound. 

"Can I ask _you_ something now?" Oliver asks. 

"Sure." 

"Why did you invite me over tonight?" 

His question takes her off guard and her breath catches in her throat. 

She wants to be honest with him, she wants to open up to him, to _someone_ , but it's been years since she opened up to anyone and she isn't sure she’ll be able to stop once she gets started. She doesn't want him to get up and walk away from her and she’s terrified that he will if she starts talking. Tonight has been so wonderful, just having someone to talk to, and she doesn't want to lose that. Part of her is scared that she's becoming attached to Oliver too quickly, but part of her understands why she might be. He's the first person who has spent time with her in two years, the first person who had made her smile and laugh in two years, of course she's going to feel something for him. 

"Do you have a lot of friends, Oliver? People you see at work or at the gym or something like that?" 

"I guess so, yeah." 

"Then you wouldn't understand." 

"Try me." 

He looks at her so openly, so seemingly at ease on her couch even though an hour ago they were practically strangers and suddenly, she knows she can trust him. She doesn't know why, but she knows that she can. Because he looks at her like he already knows, like he's been trying to figure her out since the first time he ever greeted her from across the hall. And because he's just opened up to her, which means that he trusts her too. 

So she takes a deep breath and just talks. 

"Well, since my mom died two years ago, I haven't really spoken to anyone. I mean, I didn't speak to many people before that because I worked so much and preferred my own company to anyone else’s. But when I lost mom, it just got worse, I guess. I went from choosing to spend time by myself to purposefully isolating myself because I couldn't bear to lose anyone else. I figured that if I made the decision, if I cut myself off from everyone, then it would hurt less. So I did just that. I stopped called my friends and stopped replying to their texts and gradually they got the message, gradually I had less and less contact with other people until I wasn't speaking to anyone at all. And I mean that literally. Besides brief exchanges with you and you know, cashiers in stores and pizza delivery guys. But do you know how much that starts to suck after a while? How empty that makes me feel sometimes? I know most of it is my fault because I don't do anything about it, even now when I actually kind of _want_ to do something about it. I guess I still have the same fears deep down and maybe that's why. I don’t change my job or join some sort of club or introduce myself to the people living nearby so that I can make new friends. But at the same time, I know it's not completely my fault. Sometimes I just wish someone else would notice, you know?" She says, her voice cracking slightly at the end, partly because she's never opened up like this to anyone and partly because she's sure that's the longest she's spoken in one go for a really long time. 

Oliver doesn't reply right away. He just looks at her, an almost unreadable expression on his face. But she's good at reading people. And she can see the hint of sadness in his eyes, that same hint of sadness she's caught a couple of times tonight. 

"I notice,” he says after a while, softly.

Felicity smiles. "You don't have to say that, it's okay."

"No, I'm serious. I notice. Why do you think I've always made an effort to speak to you? Even when you look down and keep your hood up and don't respond? Why do you think I still keep waiting for you and talking to you?" 

She shrugs, not knowing what to say. "Because you're a nice person?" 

"No, because I notice. I notice you. I notice that you never have friends over and you work from home and you only ever order takeout for one. I noticed that early on. And ever since then I've just made an extra effort to talk to you."

Felicity is completely taken aback by his confession. All along she’d thought they were strangers but all the while he’s been watching her, learning things about her that only she knew. She doesn't know how to feel.

“Why?” She asks, her voice quiet, afraid that if she speaks any louder, she’ll burst into tears. 

Oliver takes another sip from his wine, swallows it and then drains the rest of his glass in one go. He puts his empty glass on the coffee table and then schooches to the edge of the couch so he’s closer to her, their knees almost touching. 

“Because, Felicity, you fascinate me. There's always been something about you.” 

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Felicity's breath catches in her throat. But Oliver doesn't give her time to process his words before he starts speaking again. 

“Everyday for the last two years I've looked forward to seeing you in the hall. I've tried to figure out when you leave to go grocery shopping, on what days you're most likely to order takeout, just so I just happen to be in the hall at the same time as you. I know that sounds creepy-” Felicity laughs at that, and she watches Oliver’s shoulders relax just the tiniest amount. “But I couldn’t help it. The first time I saw you, a couple of days after you moved in, you just looked so lost, like you hadn't smiled in a long time. And from then on I made it my mission to change that.” 

“But you're- you had a-” 

“I know. And honestly, in the beginning it wasn't anything more than me wanting to be your friend. I mean, I always thought you were beautiful, but that was just part of the mystery. I obsessed over why someone as beautiful as you spent so much time alone. And then I didn't see you for over a week. When that happened, I realised that I missed you. I was distracted a lot of the time. It was stupid really, because you didn't even know me, you barely even spoke to me, but I couldn't help the way I felt. I almost came over so many times, but I stopped myself. I knew it was wrong, to be thinking about you so much, I knew it wasn't healthy. But you were a gorgeous distraction. You always have been.” 

“A distraction from what?” 

“From everything. From work, from my loveless relationship…” Oliver shrugs, his eyes clouding over with that same sadness again. 

Felicity aches to just reach out and touch him. 

“This is…” 

She doesn't know what to say. 

“I know.” 

It doesn't matter. 

“I can't believe you noticed me.” 

“Felicity…” 

He whispers her name like it’s four different words. _Fe-li-ci-ty_. 

She shivers. She wants to touch him so badly. She wants to take his hand or trace her fingers across his cheek. She wants to run her fingers through his hair or stroke soothing patterns into the soft skin of his wrist. 

“You should probably go.” 

She doesn't know why her mouth is saying that but she can't make it stop. It's too much. Everything is too much. 

She pulls back and stands, reaching for their wine glasses and taking them over to the sink, her hands trembling all the while. When she looks back, Oliver is still sitting there, just watching her. 

“I'm serious, Oliver. You should go.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

_No, I want you to stay. Please, stay._ “Yes. I think I need to be alone.” 

“You're always alone, Felicity. Let me be here with you. Please,” he whispers, pain clear as anything in his eyes. 

She shakes her head, unable to do more than that because she knows if she opens her mouth again, she’ll ask him to stay. 

He regards her carefully, and for once, she truly can't read his expression. God, she wants to reach out for him so much. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the countertops, needing the support. 

Finally, Oliver stands up. But instead of heading for the door, he approaches her. Slowly, giving her time to change her mind or move out of his way. But she doesn't. She can't. Because she can't stop thinking about how long it's been since someone touched her before tonight, since she touched anyone. And she knows she's had too much wine and really wouldn't normally act like this but all of a sudden she doesn't want to fight this and she doesn't want to be alone and she covers the distance between them all on her own. She stops right in front of him before they can touch. She wonders if he can feel her heart racing in her chest from here. 

“Oliver,” she whispers his name, not knowing what else to say. 

She holds her breath as he slowly raises his hand, bringing it towards her hair. He hesitates, watching her eyes, needing her consent, and she gives it to him without words, without moving a muscle. She knows he understands anyway because only then does he touch her. Only then does he finally tuck her hair behind her ear, continuing from there by pushing his entire hand into her hair so he’s scraping her scalp. His fingers feel so warm, so soft, and she can't help the whimper that escapes her throat. Oliver smiles at that and does it again, massaging his hand through her hair, whilst his other takes one of her hands in his. He interlaces their fingers and then strokes over her knuckles with his thumb. His touches are innocent, completely innocent, but she feels as though she's on fire. It's just so _quiet_ , and she can hear the blood rushing in her ears. 

She starts to speak, “We shouldn't-” but he makes a soft shushing sound, bringing his hand from her hair and resting it against her cheek, stroking along her cheekbone. Any thoughts of stopping this disappear completely and she turns her face into his palm, needing more contact, just needing to _feel_. He lets her, he even smiles at her, his eyes so warm and so accepting and so present that her heart skips in her chest.

She doesn't know why she’s feeling this way. Why she's reacting this way. Why they're standing in her kitchen and he's holding her hand when they barely know each other. She just knows that it feels right. She just knows that not a force on earth could make her stop, make her pull away. Not now. 

She reaches for him then, finally feeling confident enough to, and just like he had done, she hesitates just before her skin makes contact with his, needing him to let her know that it's okay. He does, he nods softly and smiles, his hand still resting against her cheek. 

She touches his jaw gently, tracing along it with her fingertips, all the way from one side to the other. She feels Oliver’s breath on her skin as he lets out a breath she hadn’t realised he'd been holding. She smiles at that and he smiles back and his smile gives her the courage to trace along his neck, slowly and softly until she meets the exposed skin at his chest, the little upside down triangle of skin where his V-necked shirt dips down. It's soft and hard at the same time, and his skin would probably burn her fingers if she wasn't just as warm herself. She wonders if the rest of his body is this warm. 

She feels his hand leave her cheek then, and it comes to rest at her waist, his thumb stroking the exposed skin just below it where her cropped shirt and high waisted jeans can't quite meet. She can't help the whimper that leaves her throat again as she feels him touch her so softly, so tenderly, and again, Oliver chuckles lightly. 

“How long has it been, Felicity, since anyone touched you like this?” He asks, his voice low and quiet and affected, his fingers never once stopping their journey along her skin. 

She shivers again. “So long. So long, you have no idea.” 

Oliver sighs and she feels it in every inch of her body. He lets go of her hand and instead, traces his fingers up her arm and onto her shoulder, pausing there to meet her eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. 

She moves her palm to his cheek and rests it against him softly. “Are you lonely too, Oliver?” 

His breath catches, she hears it clear as day. She knows he is. She knows he's just as lonely as she is. Not in the same way, but in a way all the same. 

She meets his eyes then and in them she sees him sleeping alone, chasing the bottom of a whiskey glass just so he’ll fall asleep quickly and won't have to think about anything. She sees him watching the woman he loves fall out of love with him, and then slowly falling out of love with her too. She sees him come home to an empty apartment for the first time, all of her belongings emptied out before they could talk about anything. She sees him stand in the doorway, emptiness suffocating him from the inside out as he wonders how his life has ended up this way. 

She echoes his words, whispering, “I'm sorry,” as she gently caresses his cheekbone with her thumb. She hears him inhale deeply, almost as though he's sobbing, but there are no tears in his eyes. Before she can even say another word, his face is buried in her neck and she can feel his lips on her skin. 

She wants to pull away and hang onto him for dear life all at the same time. It's too much and also not enough all at the same time. 

She can't _think_. 

So she doesn't. 

She stops thinking and just lets herself feel. 

She makes a sound she's sure she's never made before, somewhere between a cry and a moan and pushes herself closer towards Oliver’s mouth until she feels him pressing open mouthed kisses against her neck. She winds her hands into his hair, massaging his scalp the way he had done to her, mostly because she just doesn't want him to stop, she wants him close to her like this forever, but also because her hands want to touch him and she can't stop them. Oliver moans against her skin as she cards her fingers through his hair and she can't help the smile that creeps onto her face at the sound. Everything is so intense and happening so fast but she still can't help smiling. And then suddenly she's laughing and she doesn't know why but she can't stop and the next thing she knows, Oliver is grinning up at her with nothing but warmth in his eyes. 

“You have such a beautiful laugh,” he smiles, chuckling slightly himself. 

“I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be laughing right now but this is just… it's crazy, Oliver!” She giggles, still unable to stop the hysteria that has taken over her body so quickly. 

Thankfully, Oliver doesn't seem to mind. He just takes her hands in his, interlacing their fingers, and laughs with her, softer and quieter, but laughter all the same. “This _is_ pretty crazy,” he agrees after a while. 

“Honestly, I'm sorry for laughing, I really am. It's not really the impression I want to give. I promise I'm not like this all the time.” 

“I can believe that. When was the last time you actually laughed like this?” 

His question stops her laughter almost instantly. Because she doesn't have an answer to his question. She can barely remember the last time she laughed at all before tonight, let alone for as long and as hard as she’s just done. 

“My mom was the only person who could make me laugh,” she admits, looking down at their hands because she can't take the intensity of his gaze. 

She feels rather than hears him sigh, his thumb stroking patterns over her knuckle.

“Can I ask what happened to her?” 

“Car accident. It was super sudden. Obviously,” she laughs humourlessly. “She went out to pick up our takeout and just… didn't come back. I found out it was a drunk driver a couple of weeks later. As far as I know, he's still in prison.” 

Oliver doesn't speak for a while and she can't tell what he's thinking because she still won't meet his eyes. She's never talked about her mom before, not since those few weeks after she died when she had to take care of everything, when she’d had to speak to her doctors and plan her funeral. When Felicity thinks back to those few weeks, she's sure she wasn't actually there at all. Those few weeks feel like a huge blur of nothingness now, almost as if she merely watched herself living through them from the other side of a thick pane of glass. 

“I'm sorry that happened to you, Felicity.” 

She meets his eyes then, because his voice sounded so open and warm and sad all at the same time. 

Smiling softly, she shrugs. “It's okay. It was a long time ago now.” 

“Still. I'm sorry it happened to you.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Were you and your mom close?” Oliver asks, still holding tightly onto her hands. 

She nods. “You may have noticed that I'm a bit of a loner…” 

Oliver chuckles lightly and she smiles. “I may have noticed that, yeah.” 

“I wasn't always. My mom had a lot of friends, friends with kids who were my age, you know? So believe it or not, I did actually used to have friends. But my mom was always my best friend. Whenever she wasn't working and I wasn't working, we spent most of our time together. We always have. My dad left when I was a kid so it's always been the two of us, my mom and I. I wouldn't have had it any other way.” 

“Didn't your dad get in touch? When the accident happened?” 

“I thought he would. One of my mom’s friends knew someone who knew where he was, where he was living then and they contacted him and told him what had happened. I know by then it’d been 12 years since they divorced, but I really thought he’d contact me even so, just send a card or come to the funeral. But he didn't. The only thing he did was send a cheque. I never cashed it. I didn't need or want his money,” Felicity replies, a bitter taste forming in her mouth the longer she talks about her father. “I don't even think about him anymore. And he didn't deserve my mom. Not ever.” 

Oliver squeezes her hands, his hot skin against hers warming every inch of her body somehow. “Men suck,” he says, simply. 

Felicity laughs. “You sound like my mom again.” 

Oliver smiles at her and leans down slowly to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He keeps his head resting there lightly for what feels like an hour and a second at the same time. 

“Oliver?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I really am sorry about you and your girlfriend. I wish things could be different for you.” 

Oliver doesn't speak but she feels his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” he eventually says, sounding like a weight has fallen from his shoulders. “I really am sorry about your mom.” 

The two of them are quiet for a while after that, both deep in thought inside their own heads. 

“Tonight has been nice,” Felicity says eventually, stroking the back of Oliver’s neck gently. “But it’s getting late and we’re both a little drunk and probably should get some sleep.” 

She feels Oliver laugh and he presses another kiss against her forehead. She closes her eyes and sighs, relishing in the feel of his lips against her skin. 

“Can I ask you one more thing before I go?” Oliver asks, a smile in his voice. 

“Of course.” 

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow?” 

Felicity smiles against him, and then moves her head back so she can look him in the eyes. “I’d love to,” she says, warmth and happiness flowing through every inch of her body. 

Oliver smiles back looking just as content. 

“Maybe over dinner we can tell each other some nice stories?” He grins, a sparkle in his eye.

Chuckling, Felicity agrees, nodding excitedly. “I think I'd like that a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please leave me a comment! I find it super difficult to continue writing without encouragement from others and so every single comment means the absolute world to me!
> 
> Feel free to leave any prompts or questions for me on Tumblr! My ask is right [HERE](http://wetsuiton.tumblr.com/ask) and I'm on there everyday :)


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